


Want, Take, Have

by Colette_Capricious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Season 8, Top!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 04:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2799383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colette_Capricious/pseuds/Colette_Capricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both feet in, or both feet out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Want, Take, Have

Dean always knows when Sam is watching him. 

_Always._

So how Sam can fool himself into thinking Dean doesn’t know he’s watching Dean while he jacks off is anybody’s guess.

Dean’s eyes open to the early morning sunshine pouring in through the sheer white curtains. _What the hell, Sammy?_ Sure, Dean is not usually a rise and shine with the sun kind of person, and he's trying his best to keep his breathing deep and even, but a blind man could tell he’s awake. 

Like the way Dean can tell from Sam’s breathing and smooth movements that Sam’s just started his round of spank the monkey. And he seems to be in no hurry to finish it. _Again, what the hell, Sammy._ It’s broad daylight. Some things are better left to the dark. Actually, most things in their lives are better left there.

But Cas is in the wind, again, and they’re on their way to Michigan to deal with some Agatha Christie locked-room mystery. Better not be fucking demons. Or angels for that matter. Dean really needs a break from heaven and hell both. He pushes the thoughts of Samandriel and Cas back down into the overly-stuffed repress and deny area of his brain, and listens to the sounds Sam is making in the other bed a mere three feet behind him.

Dean can feel Sam’s eyes boring into the back of his head. His skin prickles under the weight. He wonders if Sam can see the beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck. He shifts under the covers, easing muscles trembling with the forced stillness. He exhales with a soft grunt. 

“Dean.” Sam’s voice is steady. Like he’s not at all embarrassed by what he’s doing. Like it’s perfectly normal.

 _Fuck._ Dean briefly considers faking it longer, but he knows Sam knows he’s awake. His mouth is suddenly dry, his dick stiffening. Seems his body is ahead of his brain. Not the first time.

Both feet in or both feet out, right?

He exhales a long, deep breath, and rolls over to face his brother. “Yeah, Sam?”

Sam looks at him, everything he can’t say there in his eyes. _I’m sorry. I had to. Please understand. If you leave me again, I’ll die._ Everything Dean is feeling, too. They’re on the precipice of a hill they’ve been climbing a long time.

Sam hand is still under the covers. He’s not moving, but Dean can imagine Sam’s long fingers wrapped around himself. He licks his lips, and Sam’s eyes drop down to his mouth.

“I missed you, man.” Sam’s words are breathless, quiet, and buried in them is a resigned laugh at how tangled up they are in each other. 

Dean pushes his blankets aside and sits up. Sam’s eyes are wide and locked onto him. They stay that way as Dean stalks over to the bed. Sam rolls onto his back as Dean puts one knee on the bed and swings the other over Sam’s body, straddling Sam like he owns him. Which he does. Sam is naked and hard, dick slick with lube. 

“Show me,” Dean says. 

Sam’s arms lock around Dean, one snaking around his back, the other palming the back of his head, pulling Dean down; as relentless and implacable as the hounds that dragged Dean to hell and just as damning.

It should be wrong, this incongruous melding of love and lust. But it doesn’t feel wrong, it feels like something that’s been a long time coming. 

Their mouths come together in a clash of lips and teeth, Sam fingers tightening in Dean’s hair. Dean has one hand clamped around Sam’s jaw, holding him in place, the other braced against the mattress. Dean plunders Sam’s mouth, his hips grinding down and rolling, rolling. Sam gives as good as he gets. There’s nothing soft, nothing tender about it. There’ll be time for that later.

Goddamn it. Sam is his. He keeps _leaving_ , keeps using other people to get away from this tangled up thing they have. Stanford, Jess, Ruby, Amelia. All the same. Dean knows, because he’s done it, too. But right now, Dean didn’t go to the Catskills to be with Benny, and Sam didn’t go to Texas to be with Amelia. So here they are, together again.

He pulls away, chest heaving, hand still clenched on Sam’s jaw. Sam’s eyes are black, his lips swollen and red, Dean’s teeth marks denting them. His fingers dig into Dean’s hips, pulling him tight against his body. 

.Purgatory tugs at Dean’s mind. Pure. Clear. Want, take, have. “Mine,” he growls.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Yeah.” He tugs at Dean’s boxers, sliding them down under his ass, lifting them gently over his cock. When he wraps his hand around it, Dean closes his eyes, turns his head away, and curses. “Mine,” Sam says.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. His arms give way under the onslaught of Sam, and he falls to the bed. He rolls his forehead against Sam’s as he looks between their bodies to watch Sam working his cock like a pro. It looks almost as incredible as it feels, and he throbs in Sam’s hand.

Sam groans like he’s in pain, and Dean has to feel him. Has to see Sam’s face as Dean makes sure he knows who he belongs to. He knocks Sam’s hand away as he rolls off his body.

Sam’s already leaning up to strip off his t-shirt as Dean kicks his boxers to the ground. Sam yanks the t-shirt over Dean’s head. When Dean rolls back onto of Sam, stretched over the length of him, it feels like heaven should have. He grabs Sam’s hands and drags them up over his head, pinning Sam to the bed as he kisses the breath out of him.

Sam doesn’t do anything but take it as Dean tongue fucks him into a writhing, panting wreck. Feeling Sam submit like that, knowing that Sam could break out of Dean’s hold, could throw him off, but isn’t even trying, makes something twist in Dean’s chest. Sam trusts him. Sam loves him. Dean’s kisses gentle, his palms sliding up Sam’s wrist as he tangles their fingers together.

That all it takes to make Sam fight Dean’s hold, to beg, and try to free his hand. Dean knows Sammy is dying to touch him. He tightens his grip, and smiles against Sam’s mouth when he whines.

“Patience, Sammy.” He slides his knees up the bed until he’s straddling Sam again, Sam’s cock nestled tight against his ass. He rocks his hips easily over Sam’s cock, already slick with lube, and wet. “Now what should I do with you? Gotta make you stay. Gotta make you forget everyone else but me.”

“God,” Sam exhales, pressing up from the bed, lifting Dean with every thrust of his hips. “No one else. No one.”

The feel of Sam’s coiled strength under him is making Dean crazy. He loves knowing Sam can take anything Dean throws at him. Loves knowing that when he needs a fight, when needs someone to push back, Sam can and will do it. He’s been doing it his whole life, stubborn bastard. 

Dean watches Sam’s biceps straining as twists, his chest flexing. His cock is huge and hard where it presses against Dean. _Damn._ Dean wants to ride his little brother like a pony, and that is easily the hottest and most fucked up thought he’s ever had. So he has to share it. 

“I wanna fuck you,” he breathes into Sam’s ear. The groan he gets in response and the wild jerk of Sam’s cock under him is almost enough to make Dean change his plan. God, Sam would just give it up for him. Just spread his legs and let Dean in. And that’s so going to happen. Maybe even later today. But right now, Dean’s going to stick with plan A.

He slides his mouth down and bites and sucks along Sam’s gorgeous long neck as he lets go of Sam’s hand to reach under the pillow. Sam’s hand flies to Dean’s head, pulling him tighter into his body. 

Dean worries the sensitive skin between his teeth and Sam wrenches his other hand away from Dean’s. He clamps down on Dean’s ass and just drags Dean against him. “Fuck, fuck. Dean, God.” Sam’s eyes are closed, and the words are just spilling from his mouth.

Jesus, Dean could come from this - will come from this - in about ten seconds if Sam doesn’t stop. And it would feel amazing. But it’s not what he wants. God know what will come of this, what will happen after. Dean needs to have Sam inside him. That way, if it never happens again, Dean will always have that part of Sam to remember. The life of a Winchester holds no promises of tomorrow.

“Sammy, Sam. You gotta - you gotta stop.” He struggles to pull away, to put just the slightest bit of space between them. “I’m gonna come if you don’t stop.” Sam almost growls, his fingers tightening on Dean’s hips, his cock throbbing against Dean’s ass. 

Dean pulls the lube out from under the pillow (Sam is so predictable that way) and waves it in front of Sam’s face. His eyes are unfocused, lust-clouded and almost black. _Beautiful_ , Dean thinks, not for the first time. Sam’s always been beautiful. “It’s okay, okay. You’re gonna let me fuck you, right?”

“God yes,” Sam moans. He starts to pull his legs out from under Dean, but Dean stops him, clamps his thighs around Sam’s hips.

“No. Like this.” He rises up on his knees as he squeezes the lube out onto his fingers. Sam’s eyes are locked onto his hand, and when he reaches behind himself, sliding his fingers between his cheeks, Sam’s breath catches in his throat.

“Okay?” Dean asks.

Sam reaches down to Dean’s wrist, pushes it against Dean’s body. “Do it.” 

Dean pushes in, two fingers. It stings, it’s been a while (what happens in purgatory stays in purgatory) but Dean can’t wait. From the way Sam’s hands tighten around Dean’s hips, he knows Sam is fighting to keep from just dragging Dean down onto his dick.

He stretches further back, spreading his fingers inside him. “Fuck,” he exhales. 

Sam jerks, pulling him down and forcing his fingers in further. 

Dean’s moan is strangled. His shoulder is twisted just a little too far, his hips ache from being spread across Sam’s body for so long, and his cock is so hard it almost hurts. His pulls his fingers out and Sam makes a sound low in his throat. “I can’t...the angle ...”

He doesn’t get to finish as Sam grabs him by the shoulder and flips them in one dizzying movement.

Dean is on his back, legs in the air, with two of Sam’s (really long) fingers shoved up his ass before he can process what’s going on. He would complain, but it feels too fucking amazing. And Sam, Sam is like a force of nature. His free hand is wrapped around Dean’s bicep as he plunges in and out. His perfect chest is heaving like he’s the one getting fucked, and he’s sucking in great breaths of air like he’s trying to keep from coming. He’s in Dean so deep and perfect already. Dean wants to beg him to fuck him but he can’t catch his breath. It’s not just from what Sam’s doing. It’s Sam’s fucking eyes. 

Sam’s eyes are locked onto Dean’s. Like he wants to sear Dean’s face into his retinas. The heat and the all-consuming want Sam’s eyes, Dean never wants it to end. He want Sam to always look at him like he’s his whole world. Because he’s Dean’s, and Dean will damned again if has to be alone in this.

It’s too much. Dean closes his eyes, threads his fingers through Sam’s hair, now wild and hanging in sweaty strands over his face, and pulls Sam down for a kiss. The change in angle forces Sam in even deeper and Dean cries out, holding back the orgasm rushing through his body.

“Jesus Christ, fuck me already,” he gasps.

Sam pulls out with a grunt, and hooks his arms under Dean’s legs, dragging him down the bed. This whole he-man thing Sammy’s got going on is seriously working for Dean.

Sam leans forward, eyes gentling, and Dean feels him guiding his cock in. “Okay?” he asks.

Dean nods.

They both moan as Sam pushes forward. When Sam shifts his grip on Dean to find an even better angle, Dean’s eyes rolls back in his head. “Oh, god. Oh. Fuck. Yeah.”

Sam is molded over Dean’s body. Dean feels him trembling everywhere, his arms, his legs. “Dean,” he whispers. “God.” He pulls back slowly, dragging a groan out of Dean. One arm collapses as he pushes back in just as slowly. Dean’s heart pounds. “Oh, Dean,” Sammy breathes reverently. “Dean.”

And Dean comes with a cry, Sam’s name on his lips.

He can’t breathe, muscles locked up, hips arching off the bed, legs clamped around Sam. He’s vaguely aware of Sam just pounding into him, forcing out burst after burst of orgasm out, fingers digging bruises in Dean’s thighs. 

When he finally stop, brain nothing but white noise, muscles boneless and not under his control at all, he feels Sam rigid above him, caught in his orgasm. He can fell Sam shooting deep inside, filling him up. Nothing has ever felt so right. In this moment, everything is perfect. Dean knows that if he ever got the chance to go back to heaven, this would be the moment he would live in.

Sam collapses down on him with a muffled curse.

Dean runs his hands along his brother’s sweaty back, loving the feel of the muscles and skin under his fingers. Sam makes a contented sound as Dean’s fingers comb through his tangled hair. Dean chuckles as he stretched out his legs. A small groan escapes as his hips protest the position they’ve been in. 

Sam tries to roll off at the sound. “Oh, sorry. Am I - “

Dean yanks him back in, shutting him up with a kiss.

They kiss long enough, and sweet and hot enough, that the kisses turn more demanding, the hands presses harder, pulling each other closer. The sun streaming through the windows heats up the small room and the smell of sex and sweat is strong. 

They’ve twisted around so Dean is laying half on top of Sam. He rolls his hip slowly against Sam’s thigh, get hard again faster than he can remember. Sam's cock grows under his hand. He hears Sam’s stomach rumbling, and he’s suddenly aware he's starving.

He bites one last time at Sam’s kiss-swollen lips and starts to pull away. Sam grabs him and pulls him back in. Dean goes willingly. He'll never get tired of kissing Sam, but sometimes you have to eat. Matching rumbles from their stomachs, too loud to ignore, break them up.

Sam groans, throwing a hand over his face. Dean laughs. He rolls over and Sam makes a halfhearted attempt to stop him. “Don’t go,” he says, reaching to the empty air where Dean was. 

Dean tugs his jeans off the back of a chair, pulling a roll of cash out of his pocket.

Sam rolls over to follow Dean’s movements. “But if you are going, get me a coffee and a veggie omelette.”

“You wish,” Dean says, throwing a balled up sock at Sam’s head. Sam catches it easily and tosses it back at Dean as he’s picking up the phone. “Yeah, hey,” he says into the phone as he flips Sam the bird. “There any diners around here that deliver? No? Okay. Got anybody there who will run out and get me some food for twenty bucks? Awesome. I need whatever the biggest plate of eggs and bacon they got, one veggie omelette and two, no three, of the largest coffees. Good? Great. Thanks.”

He’s barely hung up the phone, when Sam drags him back down on the bed. Once more, Dean is looking up into Sam’s face, happy and full of love. He could get used to that. He can’t hold back his smile.

“We good?” Sam asks.

Dean raises one eyebrow and looks Sam’s naked body up and down. 

Sam smacks him. His expression get more serious, and his eyebrows draw together like the always do when he’s worried. “No, seriously. Are we good. Is this...” and he nods his head, encompassing where they are pressed together, naked, in the most unbrotherly way possible. “Is this okay?”

Dean looks into Sam’s face, feels where they are touching, runs his hands down Sam’s body and thinks about it. _Are_ they good? _Is_ this okay?

Sam’s muscles tense as the silence stretches, and Dean’s fingers tighten to keep him there. If Dean is honest with himself, if he lets go of everything society says they should want, what they should be to each other, lets go of any lingering guilt for needing Sam so much, loses that feeling that he should let Sam go, for his own good? Then, yeah. Dean’s good. And this is more than okay.

He presses his thumb against Sam’s forehead, wiping away the wrinkles between his brows. He can feel the smiling growing across his face. “Yeah, Sammy,” he says. “We’re fucking awesome.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Faith Lehane and Joss Whedon for the title. If you haven't watched Buffy, shame on you.


End file.
